


Last Krantt of Kreshan

by bearskald



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: N7 Special Ops Squads, No Gods No Betas We Die Like Nihlus, No not the real ones the ones that give poor Hackett heartburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:00:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29324361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearskald/pseuds/bearskald
Summary: What's a Krogan doing on Palaven? Well, when you know where all the bodies are hid, the Reaper Adviser might just ask you to hide a few more somewhere the Reapers won't find them....
Comments: 2





	1. Chapter 1

“Excuse me, sir…” The voice was hesitant, feminine, and Krull swung his head to see the speaker. Then he realised she was on his bad side and shifted his bulk to bring his good eye round.

“Eh?” He grunted, a signal to go on. The speaker was one of the few humans left on Palaven. There hadn’t been many to begin with, mostly tourists and school groups. From the insignia on her hardsuit this looked to be one of the latter.

“I was wondering… Why you haven’t had your eye fixed?” His one good eye focused on her, red as blood she realised, at the same moment she realised just how much Krogan loomed. She started to cringe, but he just laughed. It was a short booming sound, and the corners of his lips curved up in what she really hoped was a smile.

“I mean… there’s cybernetics and cloning…. And…” she stammered, but a wave of the big Krogan’s arm cut her off.

“Naw. One eye, it keeps me careful. Careful keeps me alive.” He went to turn away, thought better of it, and swung his big head back.   
“Keeps me focused on what’s around me. Focused keeps me alive. And most importantly…” He leaned in close, and for the first time she realised just how big this Krogan was. His head was bigger than her torso!

“Would you want to piss off someone who can survive something that can take a Krogan’s eye?” at her slight nod, he leaned back and let out another booming laugh.

“Neither would I! And I AM someone who can survive something that can take a Krogan’s eye.” He leaned back in, lowered his voice to what passed for a whisper on Tuchanka,  
“You can tell. Cause I only have the one.” Now it was her turn to laugh. He straightened back up, swinging his head around to scan the barren plain before them.

“Krull. Last Warlord of the Kreshani. And your name would be?”

“Jess… Jessica, really. McBride.” Krull nodded, looking at the assault rifle in her hands. It was a pretty standard Avenger, probably one of the ones he’d brought to the surface he suspected. He wasn’t stupid; if his crew was to hold this evac zone from the Reapers long enough to get the heavy-lift shuttles loaded and off-planet they’d need all the help they could get. So they’d cracked open the armoury and broad a load of weapons down with them, passing them about to anyone who didn’t seem to shake too much.

“You know how to use that?” He nodded at the weapon, panning his head around to scan the terrain in front of him again. Still clear, for now.

“Yessir! ROTC, sir.” He didn’t pretend to recognise the acronym, just snorting and nodding as though he understood. His omnitool buzzed, and he tapped it to open the channel. It was voice only, the reedy tones of a Salarian.   
  
“Outer sensors, boss. Big and or lots, deploying drone!” The glowing orange orb floated serenely past him, sinking gently from where his snipers perched on top of their shuttle.

“Good work, Eyes.” He reached back to draw his own weapon. No Avenger this. The rifle was longer than Jess was tall, all sleek lines and gentle curves. He caught her appreciative whistle.

“Dunno what you Alliance types call it, but Council troops labelled it a Javelin. Took it off a Geth Prime after a disagreement we had. What he lost, on accounts of me tearing his head off.” A pause, as Krull settled the stock against his shoulder. “Heh. And then kicked in what passed for his ribs, for good measure. Their ribs?” He panned the rifle slowly, watching through the scope as he carried on his monologue.

“My weapons expert figured out how to boost the muzzle velocity and projectile density, before she was called back to the Flotilla. Very nice, being able to shoot through walls.” There was a flicker of movement at the edge of his vision, and he sighted and fired. Something dropped, and he palmed the heat sink, flicking it into the shuttle behind him. Hooking another from his belt and into the rifle, he wished his companion wasn’t in a full enviro-suit. Obviously it couldn’t happen, what with Palavens ambient radiation, but he wasn’t particularly good at reading human body language. He figured some reassurance wouldn’t go amiss either way.

“Drop the shooters first. Don’t worry about the ones that close until they do, and then keep behind me.” Behind him he could hear the stuttering crack of Eyes’ sniper rifle, an Incisor. He watched approvingly as the human… Jess, he’d have to remember. As Jess crouched and bellied up to the low barricade erected around the impromptu shuttleport. The first Cannibals and Marauders were starting to come into sight, desultory fire plinking off the shuttle’s armour, with the odd shot fizzling against his shields. He drew another bead, the rifle slamming into his shoulder as another Marauder fell, and laughed again. This was where he was meant to be. This was living!

Another shot, and another, and then he heard Jess’ avenger open up. Eyes was still firing from his spot bellied down on top of the shuttle, picking off Marauders with practiced ease. The Salarian had long since mastered the technique of using the first two shots to drop the corrupted Turian’s shields, letting the recoil pull the rifle up to put the final round into the Reaper creatures’ face. Two more shots, and he realised he was on his last Javelin sink. He supposed there were more on the shuttle, but… Nah! Lining up the shot, he pulled the trigger, then swung the big rifle round back onto his back, only letting go when he felt the mag-locks trigger. Opening the squad channel, he sent a quick transmission.  
  


“I’m out! Where we at, Fists?”

“Loading final passengers now, chief, need five minutes to finish Evac, then get to our shuttles.” He grinned, shaking his head. How a Krogan Warlord had wound up commanding a pair of Salarians... He’d have been laughed off Tuchanka if he’d had any reason to stay there.

“Eyes? On my six.”

“Yes Boss!” the tone was exasperated, and Krull well understood it. Eyes wasn’t fond of close-quarters fighting at the best of times, and despaired at how much his commander seemed to enjoy it. Krull hadn’t waited for the response though, pulling the heavy hammer off his back and stepping out past the barricades.

Immediately the Reapers focused on him, and his grin was feral. Without noticing it, he began to hum under his breath, as his first swing caught a husk and sent in flying. He took another on the backswing, and then a sweep cleared the space in front of him. He could the bloodrage coming over him, adrenal and endorphin analogues flooding his circulatory systems. Everything seemed sharper, brighter, and he roared his laughter as a Cannibal exploded under his hammer. Filled with energy, overwhelmed by the joy of battle, he spun into his next blow slamming a Marauder to the ground even as his shields flared under repeated impacts. The creature tried to wriggle back, bringing its weapon to bear when a huge armoured foot pulped its skull.

Shaking his foot clear of the mess of blood and bone, Krull began to sing.   
  
“Oh, better to die to a Thresher” SLAM “MAW!”  
“With Shotgun blaring, ROARING, raw!” He tore a husk off his arm, augmented teeth scraping against his armour and threw it at another. He felt the weight of a third climbing his back, but then it dropped off and he knew Eyes was watching over him.   
“Than to Play” Another hammer blow, and then a twist to slam his forehead into a Cannibal that was trying to rush him. “Ambassadorial games” He shattered a husks torso with the hammers butt, and then rolled the haft over his wrist to knock another free. “With the blood of SHIAGUR! In your veins!”

There was a buzzing in his ear, and it took him a moment to realise it was his comms.

“BRUTE! BRUTE, YOU BONEHEADED IDIOT!” Eyes was furious, and Krull scanned about. How had he managed to miss the massive war-beast? “Drop that and we can get out of here! Last transport just lifted. Hear me? Last transport away! Drop Brute, Fall Back.” Krull’s only response was a low chuckle as he slung his hammer onto his back. This would be fun.

He turned to face the Brute as it leaned forward and roared. There was only response to a challenge like that, and Krull slammed a fist into his palm as he returned the bellow. At last, a worthy foe. He twisted aside from its charge, slamming a fist into the beast’s side and was reward with a bellow. Shaking his fist he turned slowly to keep facing the creature; He’d just fractured a couple of knuckles if the pain was any indication. He wouldn’t be doing that again. It rushed him again, sweeping with a huge claw. He caught the blow with both hands, the force picking him off the ground and shorting his shields.

He could hear stuttering impacts, see sparks flying off the thing’s carapace as his companions poured fire into it. He slammed his face into the claw he gripped, crest first. Once, twice, three times, twisting to avoid the other claw and the snapping mandibles. A fourth strike, and the carapace cracked, not much but enough. He shifted his grip, fingers sliding into the narrow gap and WRENCHED. With a hideous tearing noise, half the claw tore free and the Brute staggered back with a shriek. Krull let it go, stumbling back a pace or two himself. Wiping at his face, his hand came away dark with blood and he growled, reached back for his hammer.

The Brute was lining up for another charge, and he watched carefully, setting his feet. Blue fire ran along the haft of the maul, wreathing it’s head in crackling lightning as he grasped the weapon carefully in a low guard. The acrid odour of ozone filled the air. Timing here was everything. The creature began to move, picking up speed and Krull just watched, waiting, gauging, judging. 

When he moved it was like a striking serpent. The hammer swept up, with all the force Krogan limbs could put behind it to slam into the chin of the Brute. At the moment of impact, he discharged all the biotic energy wrapping the weapon with a thunderclap. The twisted visage exploded under the blow, the monster collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut to rest at Krull’s feet. With a satisfied nod, he turned to limp back towards the shuttle, trusting eyes to keep the few remaining husks off him.

He reached the barricade safely to discover that Jess and Fists were already in the shuttle, the more combative Salarian firing off her shotgun with glee. Eyes slipped off the roof, sliding nimbly into the transport and finding a seat as Krull grasped the stanchion and dragged himself into the vehicle. The pilot didn’t even wait for them to close the hatch before lifting off, and they watched through the gap as they circled over the evac zone, seeing Husks and Cannibals pour between the barricades to swarm over the empty clearings where the shuttles had settled.

“Call Adviser Vakarian. Tell him that’s the last of the Levo refugees off-planet, and I’ll see about digging up some more guns and maybe a few hands for him when I come back for the next stage. And tell Doc he’ll be wanting to see me.” Krull leaned back in his seat with a sigh, then turned to look at Jess.   
  
“You seem to have handled yourself all right. What would you rather do? Hunt Reapers with us or hide in a hole somewhere?”


	2. Chapter 2

As the shuttle wheeled away into the air, the hatch slowly slid shut with a hiss of air. As soon as it had sealed, the two Salarians popped their helmets. Jess followed suit, while Krull just snorted. It was immediately obvious the Salarians were related, their facial markings being almost identical. The one with the wicked looking shotgun introduced herself first.

“Balaena. Big man there” She shrugged at Krull “calls me Fists.” Jess glanced at Krull who just grunted. It was at that point that the other Salarian spoke up.

“Unnatural relationship with Enforcement Gauntlet. Malven” He gestured at his chest, “Called Eyes. Sniper, Tech Expert, Engineer.” His wide, unblinking fixed on her for a moment, then turned away nervously.

“Oh… Oh! Jessica. McBride. Call me Jess. I’m a student. At Guelph, on Earth. Economics. Studying Interstellar Economics this term, so when the opportunity to study offplanet came up…”

“You know how to shoot.” Krull’s voice was deep and gravelly.

“UOTC, like I said.” And then realising that Non-Terrans might not recognise the acronym, Jess went on. “Undergraduate Officer Training Corps. Means I spend my weekends doing training instead of partying, and in exchange the Systems Alliance pays part of my tuition and fast tracks me into the academy if I decide I want to go Military after school.” Krull just nodded at that.

“What about you?” She asked. “I didn’t expect to see a Krogan on Palaven.”

“Not the first. Won’t be the last.”

“Battlemaster Krull mercenary. Hunt pirates, smugglers, arms dealers. All over Citadel space and Terminus systems. Knows all little hidey-holes.” Malven’s speech patterns were quick and furtive, much like the skittish Salarian himself. “Retained by Reaper Adviser to stash refugees where Reapers won’t find them.”

“Left Tuchanka for good a few centuries ago. Nothing left there.” Krull’s growl was, if anything even lower. “Didn’t want to become just another thug, so I went hunting them. Worked for whoever would pay. Do-gooders who didn’t want to get their own hands dirty. Corporations wanting to cut losses. Other thugs who wanted to nail the competition.” He paused, lifting his head. His one eye fixed on Jess. “Did some work for a Spectre named Kryik. Good people, for a Turian. Made sure I got paid, in full and on time, and that’s rare. If you’re Krogan working on the level.”

“What happened to him?” Jess asked. Malven and Balaena were watching Krull, carefully.

“Murdered. Your Shepard paid the blood debt. That Reaper Advisor, Vakarian. He was with her. Him and the Urdnot. Well. Urdnot vouched for them. Said Shepard wouldn’t tell a lie if you held a gun to her head. Can’t help her. Won’t go back to Tuchanka. So I asked the Advisor if he needed a Krogan who knew where all the bodies were hid. Now I hide live ones for him. Speaking of.” Krull leaned back and slammed his fist on the pilot’s hatch. It slid open.

“ETA?” He yelled through, and the pilot answered back.

“On approach, Chief!” Jess leaned forward, peering through the cockpit to see the ship they were approaching. It was sleek, slender. Not what she’d expect from a refugee ship. Balaena must have caught her surprised.

“Turian light cruiser. Built for blockade running, to put a company of infantry on the ground . We’ve stripped her to the bulkheads, stage life support through the shuttles, run on a skeleton crew and single ground team and we can almost triple that.”

“The Canrum. And they say Turians have no sense of humour.” Krull chuckled harshly.


	3. Chapter 3

As the shuttle hatch hissed open, Jess was struck by the noise. A glance out the opening explained it; They had landed between a heavy-lift shuttle and some sort of fighting vehicle. It looked similar to an Alliance Mako, so she figured it was probably the Turian equivalent. A small area around the three vehicles had been roped off, but beyond that the cargo bay was crowded. Salarians, Humans and Asari packed in close, with the odd uniformed Turian moving about, offering ration packs and reassurance.

She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be doing now. Did she join the crowd? She shuffled forward, letting Balaena and Malven out past her, and then Krull dropped onto the decking with a noise like a thunderclap.

“On me.” He growled, looking at her as he did so, and she fell in behind him as he strode towards the ropes.

The press of the crowd was thick enough that even he couldn’t just wade through it, not without trampling people. Luckily, Krogan lungs were up to the task.

“MAKE A HOLE!” he bellowed, and every face in the room turned to him, before people hastened to make a path for him between the shuttle-pad and the elevator that led to the rest of the ship.

“Thank you.” Softly. For a Krogan. He strode along the narrow gap, and Jess followed him with the two Salarians, careful to stick close to his wake. He stopped on the narrow landing before the elevator, and turned to face the crowd.

“Right. My name is Krull. I’m in charge of this little evacuation programme.” He paused, scanning the crowd. “Those of you who figured you’d spend the rest of the war on the Citadel, crowded cheek to jowl in some used docking bay, you’re in luck. That’s not what’s going to happen. Place is a deathtrap, anyway.” Jess started at that. Did he know something she didn’t? Then realised she was stood staring at the big warrior. She quickly spun in place, glancing side to side and assuming the same sort of casual-ready stance the Salarians had.

“We are instead headed for a hidden installation in the Attican Traverse. Amenities are pretty basic, but it’s out of the way and should be safe.” He nodded to some of the stacks of crates against the walls of the hold. “We’ll be leaving you with supplies. Omni-gel, Medi-gel. Military Rations. Along with some professionals. Medical, Technical. Hydroponics, in case you want to eat something with flavour at some point.” There was some laughter, but it was scattered.

“Right.” He finished off. “Crew will show you to your berths. We’ll let you know when it’s safe to come out.” He nodded at some of the Turians scattered throughout the crowd, then turned and headed into the elevator, gesturing at Jess, Malven and Balaena to follow.

As they rode the elevator up, Malven explained the layout of the ship.

“Deck four, cargo bay, engineering. Deck three, spinal-mount Thanix cannon, corridor each side, with berths for ground force. Twelve cabins per side, four troopers per cabin.” A brief pause for breath. “Deck two, flight crew berths, crew mess, command center, bridge.” The elevator dinged and the door slid open. “Deck one, command quarters.” The door had opened on a corridor with a slight open area and then two doors on each side. To the left the foyer opened into a little kitchenette, and to the right, a closed door and a small sitting area.

Krull gestered towards the kitchenette.

“Mess. You’re welcome to everything that doesn’t have a name on it. Eat anything with my name on it, and I eat you.” His grin suggested he was joking. She hoped. He waved to the right.

“Shower. Shitter. You block it, you clear it. Try not to live in there.” Malven and Balaena had already vanished into the rooms on the left.

“You bunk aft. Your door locks automatically. Code it to your omni-tool. You find anything personal in there, you let me know. Vas Canrum is a friend, even if she’s no Vas Canrum any more. If you need anything, figure it out.” He chuckled. “I’m just in here.”

There wasn't much to her berth. A narrow cot, built into the wall. A desk with a screen, and a foot locker. The walls were bare, but if she was going to stay on the ship any length of time, she figured she could find something. At least this way, she could be sure of doing something to help, instead of trying to find an Alliance office that knew where to send her. Securing her borrowed Avenger in the locker, she lay back on the bed, arms clasped behind her head. This was a far cry from her studies, that was sure.

Jess had no idea how long had passed since she lay down when she heard the banging on her door. A quick glance at her omni-tool told her it had been a couple of hours. She felt stiff and sore; Napping in a hardsuit is not conducive to comfort or rest.

“Yes?” She called,

“Grubs up. Bring your gear.” Krull didn’t seem to care whether she was hungry or not. She paused for a moment, wondering if she should shuck the hardsuit before going through, and then realised she didn’t have any clothes with her beyond her undersuit. She hadn’t been given much time to pack for the evacuation, and her duffel had gone in a stack of bags to be loaded when she volunteered to help with the defence. Presumably it was aboard somewhere. Or aboard some ship, at least, as she remembered that evacuees had been dispatched towards multiple vessels from that one site.

Balaena and Malven were seated at the little table, trays of what appeared to be MREs in front of them. Two more trays were sitting on the table, steam still rising from the foil covers. Krull was standing in front of the little hotplate with a metal plan, shaking it back and forth.

“Sausage?” he asked, gesturing at one of the empty spaces. She slid into the seat gratefully.

“Please, thank you. What sort?” She asked, curious.

“Meat.” Krull grunted. “Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.” She wasn’t going to show weakness now. He turned round as she opened the tray, and slid a length of fried meat onto her tray. “So, is there a plan for after we drop the evacuees off? You were serious about me staying on board, weren’t you?”

“Go back to Palaven, do it again. Until there’s no one left to get off the rock, or the Reapers get us, or Vakarian tells us to do something else.” He shuffled a length of sausage onto each other tray then set the pan down on the counter.

“And yeah, I was serious. If you don’t want to hide in a hole.”

“Would it do me any good?” She asked, digging into her food.

“Won’t get shot at. Not comfortable, but not dangerous. Might live longer. Might not.” She was starting to get used to Malven’s rapid-fire speech. It was endearing, she found.

“Well, if it doesn’t matter much either way, I might as well make myself useful, no?” She asked. The sausage was surprisingly good.

Krull grunted acknowledgment.

“Need to get you a decent gun.”

“Avenger not bad weapon.” Malven reassured her. Krull snorted.

“Avenger’s shit. Couldn’t kill a pyjack with an Avenger. Assault Rifle or Shotgun?” This last was directed at her.

“Uh… Rifle.” Alliance Marines started with basic marksmanship, and she really, REALLY did not want to have to stand between Krull and Balaena and whatever they had set their sights on. The big Krogan nodded again, shoveled some food into his mouth, and then reached under the table to pull something out and lob it in her direction. She dropped her fork and caught it, barely.

“Revenant. Auto-stabilised. Recoil dampeners. High calibre barrel. Mind your heat sinks. Shoots faster than you’d think. Backup?”

“I… I don’t have one.” She hadn’t been expecting to go into combat, and anyway, the weapons she’d trained with were UOTC property. They came out of the common armoury for training, and then went back into it as soon as the exercise was done.

“I know that.” Krull’s growl was almost frustrated.

“Here.” Balaena passed her a pistol, “Executioner. Vorcha-made. One shot but nasty. I have a spare.” Krull chuckled.

“I think she likes you.”

“Enforcer Gauntlet may have competition.” Malven added, letting out what sounded suspiciously like a giggle.


End file.
